


In the shoes of Humanity's Strongest

by frozenpapers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/M, some sort of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:38:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenpapers/pseuds/frozenpapers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Levi, and you were born into a world deprived of warmth and of light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the shoes of Humanity's Strongest

               Your name is Levi, and you were born into a world deprived of warmth and of light. You opened your eyes to ceilings that proved your limits, and stretched your tiny arms and legs to walls that suffocated people like you. But albeit you were deprived of your birthright from the moment life was breathed into your lungs, the arms of a sordid prostitute compensated for the lack of it. Those arms had shielded you from the cruelty the underground offered and had cleansed you from the dirt that clung onto your skin to spare your innocence. A cold cloth was wrapped around your skinny shoulders, representing a mother’s love – trying, and trying, and trying to give you the life you deserved even if it lacked substance. Even so, you were grateful.

               Your name is Levi, and you’re nothing but skin and bones under an oversized dress shirt; a wingless bird misplaced by the universe, used as a tool for your mother’s work of line. But, you can’t blame her as she was only doing this to put food in your mouth and to make sure that you’re cleansed off the grime the underground life offered. So with that in mind, you obediently followed your mother’s orders and sat next to a fallen post, raising your hand for alms, and begging for men to take your mother to bed in exchange for a stale bread in a tea cup. At a young age, you’ve become a negotiator.

               Your name is Levi, and there’s something underneath the greying sheets of your shared bed; something that had endorsed the scent of rotting and the thought of death. You haven’t seen your mother in a while, so you suppose, maybe she’s dead underneath it all. You don’t unfurl whatever’s covering the carcass as your mother had often told you to never get your tiny hands dirty. You’re docile so you leave it be and card it for someone else’s business. You shuffle towards a corner and draw your knees to your chest, hiding your hands from the underground’s grime that may clung onto your alabaster skin.

               Your name is Levi, and a strange man enters your house – one that wore his hair long and hid the crown of the raven with a hat that must have belonged to the upper classmen. You gaze at him, perhaps in wonder, perhaps in alarm, but it occurs to you that he isn’t wearing green, and so you conclude that he’s not the police and it wasn’t necessary to make a run for it. Your eyes bore into him longer before you break the ice.  _Are you one of my mother’s clients?_  Your voice is meek, barely audible, but the feather touched his ears and he turns to face you. Surprisingly, the man remarkably resembled your mother, but you were never able to connect the dots. You didn’t want to spark any hope, but you had to ask.  _Are you my father?_ In which he answered with a light chuckle, a shake of his head, and an inquiry about your mother’s whereabouts. In answer, you raise a shaky and bony hand to point at the faint lump on the bed. He nods, understanding the situation, and the next thing you knew was you were under the man’s wing. He’s not parental, not the type, or so he says, and tells you that all he can give you is shelter, food, and self-defense, which was fine; you didn’t have anywhere else to go. You relented, and over the course of six years, he had successfully raised you as a criminal, and then with a gust of the wind, he was gone.

               Your name is Levi, and by seventeen, you were able to conquer the underground and were able to get filth in your hands. Though you’re conscious about your hygiene and had often washed the blood off your fingers, the grime of the underground had stained them permanently. As you wipe off the puce substance from your slender fingers, you wipe off your innocence. However hard Kuchel had tried to cleanse you of the dirt, it clung to you, stayed and had helped you make a name for yourself.

               Your name is Levi, and a decade and a year later, you’ve found yourself a family. Two brats have sought you out, and had breathed life into your constricted lungs. They compensated for the years you had lacked warmth and light. But still, your fingers were sordid, the thick grime circling those slender, alabaster fingers and turning them into mud. Together, the underground trio, you dipped your hands further into the mire without anything else but survival in your minds.

               Your name is Levi, and you are recently recruited to the suicidal Corps. Your hands are still deep in the mire as well as your friends’. You may have escaped the underground, but its dirt had clung onto you like molasses, this is why you’re outside of Squad Leader Erwin Smith’s office, serving as a look out as Isabel distracted him and Farlan looked through his things for the documents. You’re a criminal, and that label was a stubborn stain on your pristine cravat.

               Your name is Levi, and you crave that warmth and light so much that it had blinded you and had made you choose idiotically. You left the formation and had gambled the lives of your family only to lose in the end, only to go home with nothing, but another Squad Leader on your back. You failed to exterminate Erwin Smith and you had failed to choose the wisely.

               Your name is Levi, and you’re nothing but a husk of a man. You’ve proven your strength and had secured a spot in the military as captain, but the qualms for warmth and light was too much. You were frowning then, but your frowns had become scowls ever since you lost them. You’re cold and brute towards your superiors and your subordinates. Your glares could pierce through ones skin; however, one soul didn’t mind it.

               Her name is Hange Zoe and you reckon that she was the first one to offer her hand in friendship despite your group’s background. She was the first one to offer you comfort, and the first one to try and lift you up from the shadows you casted. She was the only one who stood beside you despite the fact that you have often spat unsavory epithets at her and had ignored her completely. She was the only one who didn’t cower in fear, but most importantly, she was the only one who was able to offer you the warmth and the light you’ve been craving. And this time, it was more than enough, but of course, you’d never admit that.

               Your name is Levi, and you’re swimming your way through the thousands of words Hange Zoe utters under the soft croon of the midnight sky and you’re trying your best to insert insults, and trying your best to shut her up (though you love hearing her voice because it reminded you of your favorite tea in your chipped tea cup; flawed but warm). You’ve been trying to dive into her world for years now, wanting to join her in the flood, but then it dons upon you that you needn’t to as you’ve been in it all the while. Your eyes bulge for a moment, and you realize that you’re done for, but instead of kissing her, you push her off the foot of your bed and say,  _Shitty Glasses, get some fucking sleep; it’s three in the fucking morning._  She shuffles to her feet and leaves you alone like routine, in the morning she comes back (if she’s not too busy) and also at night to tell you her progress. It had fell into routine, and you were satisfied with only her camaraderie.

               Your name is Levi, and there’s panic in your eyes as you hurry to a bleeding Hange who thought it was a great idea to hug her frustration out with a tree. She’s unconscious, blue, and pale. For a second there, you could feel the warmth and the light she brought being carted away. All you could feel is gelidity and the darkness, and for the first time in your life, you’re afraid, because you’re too selfish to let her go. She had spent two weeks unconscious in her bed whilst you spent yours in a chair that had made you stiff. You’re not one for words so you don’t try and talk to her, all you do is hold her hand, squeeze it, hoping that your warmth would be enough for her albeit you don’t have much. On the third Monday, she wakes up, but you’re too agitated to notice that there was movement. You’re on the verge of giving up and so you start to plead, unaware that she was listening.  _Never in my wildest dreams did I expect you to be a romantic, Shorty,_ you hear her say. You groan and roll your eyes and respond,  _Shut up, Shitty Glasses._

               Your name is Levi Ackerman, and you had found your warmth and your light in the filthiest person you’ve ever met.


End file.
